


thank god (for good directions)

by playedwright



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, bitty has a honey stand, honestly just tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: He’s still in the middle of weighing the pros and cons of closing up early when he hears a car turn onto the street. A little too nice to be anyone from around here, quite frankly. Bitty adjusts his sunhat and stands, peering as far down the road as he can.It is a nice car—a rental, most likely, by the looks of it. Shiny and new and one hundred percent out of place in Small Town, Georgia. Bitty leans back into the shade. Chances are the car won’t even stop; people who drive vehicles like that have no reason to stop at street vendors.The car stops.Bitty’s jaw drops open.





	thank god (for good directions)

**Author's Note:**

> shamelessly inspired by good directions by billy currington. because after being forced to listen to it, i thought "....okay actually this would be a really cute zimbits au"

The absolute worst thing about selling honey from a stand is the _damn_ _Georgia heat_.

 

See, Bitty loves what he does. He loves setting up shop and visiting with neighbors as they drive by. He loves promoting his product because his family works hard to make good honey and the people in this town know it. He loves when old Miss Jane drives by in her classic caddy and parks just so she can sit and gossip with him.

 

He’s glad it’s not his only job, good lord, but he enjoys it as a summer job.

 

The heat is just  _ so  _ damn much.

 

Bitty is already wearing shorts and a tank-top. There’s only so many layers a boy can shed before it’s indecent.

 

He sighs and fans himself some more.

 

Maybe he can close up temporarily, and take a quick drive up to the country store to get an iced tea. It’s been a while since anyone has stopped by, anyway. He probably wouldn’t even be missed. To be quite honest, he thinks he could shut down altogether and go home and it’d be just fine. He had a pretty decent morning in sales.

 

Except—

 

Bitty sighs again. He needs new skates, before he goes back to Samwell, so all the money he can get is welcome. And he’s got to learn how to stick things out when it comes to work.

 

He’s still in the middle of weighing the pros and cons when he hears a car turn onto the street. It sounds too new and nice to be Miss Jane. A little too nice to be anyone from around here, quite frankly. Bitty adjusts his sunhat and stands, peering as far down the road as he can.

 

It is a nice car—a rental, most likely, by the looks of it. Shiny and new and one hundred percent out of place in Small Town, Georgia. Bitty leans back into the shade. Chances are the car won’t even stop; people who drive vehicles like  _ that  _ have no reason to stop at street vendors.

 

The car stops.

 

Bitty’s jaw drops open.

 

He barely has a second to catch it before he embarrasses himself. Which is good, because then the driver steps out of the car and Bitty’s soul straight up leaves his body for a second.

 

_ Jack Zimmermann? _

 

Bitty must be hallucinating! That’s the only plausible explanation. How else would Jack Zimmermann, star player of the Providence Falconers, be standing  _ right in front of him?  _ It’s so hot and he’s probably dehydrated so he’s hallucinating and  there’s no  _ way _ Jack Zimmermann is really that pretty in person.

 

Bitty fans himself. 

 

“Uh, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to the interstate, would you?”

 

_ Sweet Jesus _ . Bitty isn’t hallucinating.

 

Jack’s got a voice and an accent that drip like honey—pun intended—and Bitty could actually swoon. God knows he doesn’t get to ogle pretty boys all that much here. He’s almost self-conscious of his tank top and short shorts now, despite the fact that not even thirty seconds ago he was moaning about the warmth. He would have dressed nicer if he’d known he was going to be in the presence of  _ handsome hockey royalty. _

 

“The interstate?” Bitty repeats, several beats too late after he realizes he hasn’t responded. The corner of Jack Zimmermann’s mouth quirk. Like he’s fighting off a smile and losing.

 

“You’ve got one of those, yes?”

 

And that’s—is Jack Zimmermann chirping him?   
  


Bitty points a finger at him. “Now I know you aren’t from around here, Mister Zimmermann, but we Georgians don’t tease perfectly good strangers before properly introducing ourselves.”

 

Jack’s eyes go wide. “You, uh, know who I am?”

 

Good lord. He’s cute  _ and  _ a little bit dumb. Bitty’s done for.

 

“Jack Zimmermann, starting forward for the Providence Falconers and leading scorer for two years in a row? You’re a bit of a celebrity, sweetheart, even if you weren’t talking to someone whose followed hockey since he was old enough to strap on skates.”

 

Jack’s smile is breathtaking. Bitty hates him, just a little bit. But he’s breathless as can be, so maybe it’s just a lack of oxygen. 

 

“You play?”

 

“Figure skated, mostly, when I was younger. Started hockey in my teen years. I actually play for Samwell University.”

 

“When you aren’t selling honey pots in Georgia.”

 

Bitty smirks. “When I’m not selling honey pots in Georgia, of course.”

 

“Ah.” Jack crosses his arms. He looks like he’s enjoying himself; Bitty can’t remember a time he’s ever watched a video of Jack Zimmermann looking like he’s enjoying himself. This whole thing feels super surreal, and he’d still be half convinced he was hallucinating if he wasn’t positive that he’d never be able to imagine  _ this version  _ of Jack Zimmermann.

 

He startles when he realizes Jack is looking at him expectantly. If he’s being honest, he probably missed the question Jack asked him because he was too busy admiring. His throat feels a bit dry; it’s not so much the Georgia heat, anymore. He coughs pointedly.

 

“Sorry,” he says, definitely not blushing. Jack smirks anyway. “What was that?”

 

Jack gestures to the honey stands. “Do you make it yourself?”

 

“Oh. No, unfortunately. It’s my aunt’s farm. I used to help, when I still lived here year-round. Now I just help out when I’m home. Mostly I just do the selling for her. She tells me that I’m charming.”

 

“It’s hard work,” Jack says with a nod. He doesn’t look up from the honey. Bitty’s nodding along. He’s trying to decide if he can get away with fanning himself again or if Jack will take notice; he could blame it on the heat, after all. Damn Georgia heat. He almost misses when Jack says, “And you are charming.”

 

Bitty chokes on air.

 

“You never told me your name,” Jack continues, like he didn’t just call Bitty  _ charming  _ and make the entire world shift off its axis.

 

He blinks twice, heavily. He thinks he might have whiplash. “Oh. Well. It’s Eric Bittle. Bitty.”

 

“Bitty?”

 

“Yes, yes, quite hilarious considering I’m small, I know.”

 

Jack’s smiling again. Bitty is not sure what he did to warrant this kind of attention from  _ Jack Zimmermann _ . He might pass out. Maybe he can blame that on the heat, too.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bittle,” Jack says. He awkwardly shifts from one foot to another—good  _ lord  _ how is it possible that this boy could be  _ awkward? _ —before hitting out a hand and saying, “Jack Zimmermann.”

 

Bitty gapes at his extended hand. He’s being a horrible Southerner right now but he can’t shake the shock that keeps hitting him every time Jack does—

 

Well. Literally anything.

 

But he laughs, and it sounds far too giddy but he can’t even cringe because he’s holding Jack’s hand—shaking, whatever—and this is really his life. Lord. He should get a picture to take back to Samwell. Dex would probably have a heart attack on the spot.

 

Bitty holds on for a bit too long, and he doesn’t even notice until Jack glances down at their hands and makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat. Bitty’s face is on fire when he finally drops Jack’s hand.

 

“What brings you through Madison?” Bitty asks suddenly. He thinks the Falcs might have played Tampa earlier this week, but he’s too flustered to properly run their schedule through his mind. Even with a game near these parts, Bitty can’t imagine a single scenario that would get Jack Zimmermann here in front of him in Madison, Georgia.

 

Jack, for what it’s worth, looks surprised by the question. His face grows serious—and there’s an expression Bitty finally recognizes from the interviews. His mouth gets all twisty when he’s deep in thought. Bitty can’t look away from it.

 

“I coached a peewee hockey team for a few years before I was drafted. One of my old players is starting at the University of Georgia in the fall. He asked for a favor, and the Falcs were down near here anyway…”

 

“So you rented a car while the rest of the team bussed back and made a detour to UGA to show off in all your hockey-royalty-ness, naturally,” Bitty assumes. Jack’s surprised laugh is almost as lovely as his surprised smile.

 

“I wouldn’t call it showing off.”

 

“Of  _ course  _ you wouldn’t.”

 

Jack’s lips twitch. He moves subtly, more under the tent so he’s almost backlit by the sun above it. Bitty realizes with a start just how close they’ve gotten. “My navigation paused when I took a phone call from my best friend. Long story short, I got distracted listening to one of his rants and ended up off the main roads.”

 

It’s a crazy story. It’s literally insane, and perhaps Bitty’s just amazed by the whole thing because it seems like the actual grace of  _ god  _ dropped Jack Zimmermann at the front of Bitty’s honey stand.

 

“You poor thing,” he finally manages to say. “Lucky Madison isn’t a very big place, I suppose. You’ll be able to find your way back to Providence pretty simple.”

 

Jack’s face does something complicated that Bitty doesn’t know how to interpret. He settles on looking disappointed, like he doesn’t want to leave. Something in Bitty’s gut flutters at the thought. “Think you can direct me?” Jack asks, and  _ good lord  _ he even  _ sounds  _ disappointed. Bitty’s gonna spend his entire life thinking about this exchange and probably wishing he’d done something brave.

 

“Sure, honey. Follow this road a bit longer, then take a left at the stop sign. If you pass Maybelle’s Country Store, you’re going the right way. Oh, and you might as well stop there to get some iced tea for your drive. You’ll regret it if you don’t, seriously.”

 

Bitty takes a deep breath. A dangerous thought floats through his mind. And then Jack looks at him again and he’s  _ warm  _ and the damn Georgia heat doesn’t even matter anymore, and Bitty decides,  _ okay. _

 

“From Maybelle’s, all it takes is a right and that’ll take you right to Highway 29, which you can follow till you hit I-85. Or you could take a left, and it’ll bring you back here to me.”

 

Jack looks beautiful when he blushes.

 

His voice is soft when he says, “Thanks, Bittle.”

 

And Bitty is  _ gone for _ .

 

Jack holds up a pot of honey. “For the road?” he asks. Bitty doesn’t have the voice to answer; his heart is pounding in his throat and letting nothing else through. But he nods, and he gives Jack a smile, and he tries to memorize how gentle Jack looks like this.

 

Jack overpays. Bitty doesn’t even have a chance to think about handing him money back before Jack gives him a look like he’s challenging Bitty to say something about it.

 

“Stay safe out on those highways, you hear me, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty finally asks. He moves from his shaded spot to follow Jack to his car. “Y’all may be in the playoffs right now, but we can’t have them lose their leading scorer.”

 

“Oh, no,” Jack agrees. “It would be a shame.”

 

They stand there like that, for a moment—Jack standing behind the opened door of his rental car, and Bitty on the other side a few feet in front of his stand. When Jack waves, he uses the hand that’s still holding the honey.

 

“Thanks for everything, Bittle. See you around,” Jack says. He catches himself too late, and looks almost embarrassed for saying it. They both know he won’t be seeing Bitty again, unless Bitty goes to a thousand home games for the Falconers and gets a second chance at a meet-cute.

 

So he doesn’t say  _ i hope so,  _ like he wants to. But he gives Jack another smile and waves back and says, “I’ll catch you on tv next week. Good luck. Y’all are gonna take home that Cup.”

 

Jack smiles. Neither of them say anything else.

 

Bitty watches as Jack starts his rental and drives away.

 

He watches Jack’s car kick up dirt until it reaches the stop sign at the top of the road, and he watches as he stops and signals for a good six seconds before taking the left.

 

He watches until he can’t anymore, and then he sighs and retreats back into the shade.

 

The funny thing is, Bitty doesn’t feel as sad as he expected to. God knows he’s gonna be pining for an unattainable hockey player for as long as he lives, but— _ Jack Zimmermann.  _ The boys aren’t going to believe it when Bitty tells them. He’ll keep parts of it to himself, of course. The ways Jack made him feel warm. Jack’s gentle smiles.

 

_ Jack Zimmermann asked me for directions once _ , he’ll say.

 

Bitty has the half-hysterical thought of making it to the NHL just to bump into Jack again. He starts giggling before he can help it. As pretty as Jack was—and lord knows that boy is  _ pretty _ —Bitty’s extended hockey career would never be just because of a boy. Besides, destiny or fate or  _ something  _ gave Jack to Bitty once before. Maybe there’s more in their story.

 

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel sad.

 

Mostly he just feels… content.

 

And too damn  _ hot _ .

 

Now that he’s lost the distraction of Jack Zimmermann, Bitty’s got nothing else to focus on but the excruciating warmth of Georgian summers. He sighs and takes a seat at the camp chair he sets out every time with his booth. He pulls out his phone.

 

He shoots off a text to the team’s group-chat informing everyone of his celebrity sighting and barely has ten seconds to close his phone before it’s blowing up with grown men losing their shit. Ransom demands a picture, Chowder sends fifty exclamation points, Wicky just sends  _ ‘swawesome’ _ , and Dex, predictably, has the equivalent of a text heart attack.

 

Bitty laughs and shakes his head. He loses himself in the ridiculous of his team for so long that he almost misses it.

 

The sound of tires coming back down the road.

 

He looks up in shock. His heart is pounding; he doesn’t want to  _ hope  _ but—

 

It’s not Miss Jane’s caddy, and it isn’t any other old car from Madison. He knows all his neighbors by the vehicles they drive, easy enough to do in a town as small as his. This isn’t a neighbor’s car. But he still knows it.

 

Jack’s rental.

 

Bitty  _ grins. _

**Author's Note:**

> this... might be continued i'm ngl
> 
> you can find me [here](https://tonytangredis.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> bookmark, comment, kudos below! :)


End file.
